


Hitmen

by themoistplinth



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies), Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Hitman AU, Lots of guns, M/M, eventually smut if I get around to it, maybe more story if this gets a good response?, stress writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 14:33:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6858904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themoistplinth/pseuds/themoistplinth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack is the world's best Hitman, if he's told to kill someone that someone is definitely going to die.<br/>This just might take a bit longer however.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hitmen

The stairs were concrete. The case was heavy. His suit was crisp and clean and the mission was simple.

Take out the hitman before he takes you out.

Being a world renowned hitman was easy for one reason; as a hitman, you had anonymity, but as a famous one everyone knew how to contact you. You didn’t need to be shady like some deep-web psychopath but at the same time you could be. You were rich and it was exceedingly easy to take out the competition.

There was one other hitman, The Mad Hatter they called him, who would leave a card on all of his victims and he was a good killer. No one knew who he was except for one girl he spent the night with, Alicia or something. A small bribe followed by her brutal murder gained him The Hatter’s location. A sloppy murder of course, pinned on The Hatter with his signature calling card. 

Jack was the best hitman the world over after that.

And now some ass had hired a hitman to take him out?

You don’t get to be a serial killer without making a couple of enemies that goes without saying. But hiring the world’s second best to kill the world’s first best was just cruel. Hiring the world’s first best to kill the second best immediately after was just sadistic. Warning them both was the final straw. Jack had made an oath to kill the mysterious figure able to afford both of their rates, just after he got paid. Money was important after all.

It was a lot of stairs to the roof; a sniper rifle on the roof may be a cliché way of killing someone but honestly the clichés were cliché for a reason. And since every other action movie had started to do it all the other serial killers, mercenaries and SWAT teams had been aiming to use less predictable methods, like sewers. Why they went from as far up to as far below Jack didn’t know but he had no complaints.

Jack pushed the Fire Door at the top of the stairs open softly, closing it behind him silently. The rooftop was barren, grey and high, the only rooftop taller being the slightly larger building across the street. That’s where Jack expected the other hitman to head; if he was anywhere near as good as Jack then he’d go for a rooftop, probably the tallest around. If he was already there then Jack would walk straight into a trap. But if he chose somewhere the other wasn’t expecting…

Jack laid his case down on the ground and began removing parts of his long, dangerous weapon from it; a beautiful, state of the art, one of a kind, practically priceless rifle that he named “Baby Tooth”, the namesake for which coming from the nickname of the first mobster he killed with it.

Good times had been had with this weapon.

Jack slid the scope down the back of the gun and heard a faint click as it locked into place. The scope was made of a rare crystal that changed magnification with heat applied; it cost a man several hundred thousand dollars to obtain, and Jack an entire evening of infiltration. Of course the crystal wasn’t his target, but something that good just had to stolen. ‘Old habits die hard’ was his justification for it at least.

Jack squatted on the rooftop and stared down his scope at the street below; if the other hitman was here like his employer had tipped him then they might try to blend in with the crowd. Jack looked for anyone that looked suspiciously unsuspicious. Everyone below looked imperfectly mundane however; not a single unremarkable in his sights’ sights. 

Jack repositioned his rifle so that he lay on the ground staring up at the rooftop above him; if the other hitman wasn’t down on the busy street then they would be up the top of the other building looking for Jack; the building after all had no windows that opened. Health and Safety had completely ruined the art of a window assassination, a fact Jack usually suffered from. Not today though.

“Where are you?” Jack muttered quietly to himself, his eyes still searching for even a hint of something amiss, “What do you look like?”

“You tell me,” a voice behind Jack said. Jack shot to his feet immediately, snatching Baby Tooth up from the ground in the process; he attempted to point the long rifle at the source of the voice but the space between was far too small for the weapon to be effective.

Not too small for it to be intimidating though.

The assailant for his part of the scene was pointing a one crossbow at Jack’s head (Jack once knew a hitman that only killed with a crossbow. He didn’t last long) and a Glock at Jack’s chest. The assailant, possibly male, but you could never know with the diversity of hitmen nowadays, was covered in a brown fabric from the fingers of his gloves to the knitted, woollen balaclava covered their head.

”Y’know those are really more effective the other way around,” Jack said dryly, staring at the bolt on the crossbow aimed directly between his eyes, “You want a moment to switch?”

The hitman’s smile was audible from beneath his mask, “They’re good enough like this,” they said smugly, their voice dripping with accent.

“Right,” Jack said, “So you gonna shoot? Normally you aren’t meant to take this long to kill someone with a gun pointed at you”. 

“I could say the same to you,” the hitman said, “Yours doesn’t look half as good right now though”. 

“Kill me all you want, but don’t insult my gun,” Jack warned and the hitman laughed. 

“Whatever you say. Now drop your weapons”. 

Jack scowled at the man, “Why? You won, can’t I have at least a little dignity in defeat?” The crossbow made a clicking noise and Jack’s shoulders sagged in defeat, “Fine,” he muttered and dropped Baby Tooth to the ground with a sad crash. He hoped it was okay, “Happy now?” 

“All your weapons,” the hitman said.

Jack scowled and brought out two small Glocks from his suit pockets and a long hunting knife. 

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” the hitman warned. 

Jack put his hands back into his suit and pulled out a further two knives, a short metal baton, a miniature spear and a particularly pointy pen cap he’d sharpened on the bus ride over. The figure coughed and Jack gave a final sneer and took off both of his shoes. 

“Careful with them, I lost the trigger that detonates the explosives in the soles,” Jack murmured, “They just looked too good to leave behind”. 

“That all of your weapons?” the hitman grunted and Jack nodded, “Good,” they said. They placed their weapons into the pockets of a long, billowing coat that hung off of their frame and pulled off their mask, revealing a remarkably unremarkable freckled face beneath, “It’s good to see you again Jack. It’s been too long”. 

Jack frowned, “Do you know me?” he asked, genuine puzzlement spreading across his face. 

“Jack it’s me?” the hitman said, “It’s Hiccup. Your boyfriend?” 

Jack took a step back, “I don’t have a boyfriend. I’ve never had a boyfriend. I’m straight”. 

Hiccup laughed, “Jack don’t be ridiculous, it’s me, you can drop your act”. 

Jack shook his head and felt fear, the one emotion he’d thought he’d managed to drill out of himself, the one thing he never felt, the one thing he promised himself he would never feel, blossom inside of his chest, “I don’t know who you are, I’ve never met you before”. 

“Jack-” Hiccup began again but Jack cut across him. 

“Stay back,” Jack said, pulling a tiny pistol from his sleeve-rule one of the trade, never be unarmed, “I don’t know who you are”. 

“Yes you do,” Hiccup smiled, “That’s why you haven’t shot me. That’s why you’re shaking. It’s okay. I’m here to help you”. Jack pulled down the trigger on the pistol and waited for a bullet that never came to find its target. When the bullet failed to fire he threw the gun at the freckled boy and missed-he never missed. In the six years he’d been a hitman not once had he missed a throw, a shot or a target. What the hell was happening to him?

“Jack just calm down,” Hiccup said, holding an arm outstretched and a hand flat, “I’m not going to hurt you”. 

Jack moved back again and felt his ankle nudge against the edge of the rooftop; no way down and nowhere to run.

“Just listen; if you were going to die you would be dead by now!” Hiccup said in a reassuring tone. The message was most definitely not reassuring. 

Jack allowed himself a fast glance backwards to look at the fall; the building was six stories, no surviving a fall that long. He breathed in through his nose heavily and took another step back.

“Jack!” Hiccup shouted, the boy running forward being the last thing that he saw as he fell backwards off of the rooftop.

He wasn’t going to die today, and he wasn’t going to let some goddamn second rate hitman or a tall building be the one to kill him.

He grabbed the edge of the rooftop as he fell and used it to swing, the building painful against his bare hands, through the window on the floor below. The glass cut through his socks and skin painfully as they kicked the window in on the floor below.

Jack fell to a heap on the floor of the office he’d smashed his way into and allowed himself a brief moment to appreciate the pain he was in, before forcing it out of his head and struggling to stand up. Office workers were rushing to stare at the strange boy who had smashed through their glass now, one speaking quickly on a phone to what sounded suspiciously like building security or police. Jack covered his face in his hands and barged threw the gathered crowd, wincing as he ran on his bloodied feet

Only one place left to run now; home.

**Author's Note:**

> I was really stressed when I wrote this (also why I wrote this) so if the writing is shittier than normal that's why. If the general reception to this is good I'll write more...I kind of already have more plot in my head.


End file.
